The Incredulity of Father Brown
hundreds of yards beyond the Merton outer wall—why, then, I wouldn't put it past the noble savage to be able to send an arrow over the wall and into the top window of Merton's house, no, nor into Merton, either. I've seen things quite as wonderful as that done in the old days."
"No doubt," said the priest, "you have done things quite as wonderful as well as seen them."
Old Crake chuckled, and then said gruffly, "Oh, that's all ancient history."
"Some people have a way of studying ancient history," the priest said. "I suppose we may take it there is nothing in your old record to make people talk unpleasantly about this affair."
"What do you mean?" demanded Crake, his eyes shifting sharply for the first time in his red, wooden face, that was rather like the head of a tomahawk.
"Well, since you were so well acquainted with all the arts and crafts of the Redskin," began Father Brown slowly.
Crake had had a hunched and almost shrunken appearance as he sat with his chin propped on its queer-shaped crutch. But the next instant he stood erect in the path like a fighting bravo with the crutch clutched like a cudgel.
"What?" he cried, in something like a raucous screech. "What the hell! Are you standing up to me to tell me I might happen to have murdered my own brother-in-law?"
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